


You won't let me down (you smile in your sleep)

by LacrimaDraconis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacrimaDraconis/pseuds/LacrimaDraconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Stiles kills someone he goes from shaking, to staring blankly in front of him, to silently crying for what feels like hours afterwards. Derek stays, through all of it, and when Stiles finally lifts his gaze to glance at him with wide eyes, Derek’s heart just breaks a little for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You won't let me down (you smile in your sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> There is a description of the beginning of a panic attack, so please be careful if that bothers you.
> 
> The title is from Silverstein's "Smile in your sleep", which otherwise doesn't fit this at all. My thanks, as always, go to Bre for the wonderful beta and to Silve for telling me this doesn't suck. <3

The first time Stiles kills someone he goes from shaking, to staring blankly in front of him, to silently crying for what feels like hours afterwards. Derek stays, through all of it, and when Stiles finally lifts his gaze to glance at him with wide eyes, Derek’s heart just breaks a little for him.

He can’t tell Stiles that everything will be alright again because Derek knows it won’t be. It might get easier with time, carrying this invisible weight, but the moment Stiles drove a dagger into another man’s heart he lost something and Derek knows it’s never coming back. 

He can’t even tell Stiles that it was the right thing to do, that he had to do it and that it was good and just. He can’t, because the only reason Stiles did it was to save him, to save Derek, and without him Stiles wouldn’t even have been there in the first place. Sometimes Derek asks himself how the world would feel like without the guilt that keeps growing like a pile of darkness. But this shouldn’t be about him, isn’t really about him at all. It’s about Stiles. 

Stiles, who has saved him numerous times even back when there was nothing but animosity between them. Stiles, who stood up to him and called on Derek’s bullshit despite being scared of him. Stiles, who is so loyal and stupid and brave and above all so blatantly human that Derek finds himself wondering. Could Stiles be human enough for the both of them? For all of them. 

He wants to help Stiles cope, ease the numbing emotion he knows is holding a firm grip on the kid and just make it all go away. He wants to be there for him, but Derek really isn’t good with words or good at comforting or hell, good with people at all. He doesn’t have anything to say that could make Stiles’s world right again, has nothing to offer, so Derek’s lips stay sealed. 

He simply reaches over to Stiles who is staring at the ground, breath heaving and heartbeat spiraling upwards still. He puts a hand on the boy’s thigh, sure and firm to let him know that Derek is there for him, that he’s not going anywhere and that he doesn’t have to go through this alone. And Stiles grabs at his arm as if his life depends on this little bit of contact, like Derek is his anchor, keeping him sane and keeping him from falling apart. He’s clinging to Derek, fingers digging into his skin so hard he would have drawn blood if it wasn’t a werewolf he was hanging onto. It hurts, it hurts so much, but Derek doesn’t mind the pain. It grounds him, tells him that Stiles is still there with him and it burns deep within him, a warmth spreading low, thrumming through his whole body. It feels like drowning and falling to pieces. Maybe it feels a little bit like falling in love.

****************

Stiles doesn’t know how to feel. There’s an emptiness inside of him, like having a black-out during an exam in school. Everything is just blank and quietly restless. He cannot think straight, he’s cold and sweaty, desperately trying to get his shaking hands back under control. He stares at the floor, concentrating hard on the dirt and gravel there. His eyes roam restlessly, unwanted images flashing in his mind as he tries to find something regular in the dust. A pattern, something he can focus on, something that would ground him. Anything that would make sense, really.

He has killed tonight. A man, a human being, isn’t alive anymore because Stiles killed him with a dagger to the heart. A wave of sickness rolls over Stiles as the realization hits him once more. He ended a life and it’s not something that can be reversed, can be made right again. Death has that kind of finality to it. 

Stiles knows about death, he really does. He has seen it, encountered it, has fucking lived with it for months. The overwhelming rush of memories of his mother that his brain suddenly decides to throw at him makes his eyes water, and the hollow feeling in his guts gets pushed aside leaving room for nothing but guilt. It makes him choke. Stiles knows how it feels to lose someone, to lose someone he loves. Knows the pain it brings to have someone important be taken away from him and never be given back. And now he did that.

He has killed a man who was a son, who maybe was a father or a brother. A man who maybe leaves a family behind that will miss him fiercely now, and Stiles is the reason for that. The thought makes him sick. He wants to retch, feels the bile rising in the back of his throat, making him break out in cold sweat again. He gasps, chest suddenly heaving, his heart thumping hard and blood rushing loudly in his ears. 

Stiles recognizes the signs of the beginning of a panic attack and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t know what to do about it. There is too much air in his lungs but still not enough oxygen, like an invisible weight pressing down on him, suffocating him. He stares at the floor, trying to find something, anything to pull himself out of this, when there is movement in his peripheral vision. 

An unexpected touch almost makes him jump, but the hand on his thigh is strong yet gentle, an immediate warmth spreading through the fabric of Stiles’ jeans. It’s Derek’s hand, Stiles knows that. He knows that Derek has been sitting by his side for the last minutes, hours, whatever, it just hasn’t really registered before. But now it makes all the difference. Because in this horrible and terrifying mess around him and inside of him, Derek suddenly makes sense. The warm presence next to him calms him as he grabs Derek’s arm, fingers digging deep, clinging to him and letting the contact ground him. 

Stiles thinks that maybe he should be angry with him, should blame him for what has happened. But he doesn’t and thinks he never could. He has killed tonight and he has done it for Derek. To save Derek. He doesn’t know if it makes everything better or worse, but Stiles killed a man tonight without hesitation, ended a life to save Derek’s. He doesn’t know what kind of person this makes him, but deep down inside of him, Stiles knows without a doubt that he would do it all again in a heartbeat and that Derek would do the same for him. 

He doesn’t let go of Derek’s arm for a long time.

 

****************

 

Something shifts between them after this. It’s not sudden, it happens slowly instead, gradually moving towards something different than it was before. It only shows in little things, but maybe it develops into something more. More than what exactly Derek isn’t sure though. He doesn’t have the slightest clue about what this is between him and Stiles, and to be honest he has never known what they were in the first place either. Friends? Acquaintances? Two people with overlapping social circles who happen to save each other’s asses more often than they could ask for? Derek doesn’t know and it’s probably best not to put a label on them. They’re… different. Things have always been different between him and Stiles, right from the start. Definitely different to how things are between Scott or Isaac and him. Derek is sure of that at least.

Derek has turned to Stiles for information and research purposes early on and after a while it had become a routine of sorts. Whenever he can’t figure things out on his own, he asks Stiles. And sometimes Stiles even seeks him out, sharing information willingly and also dumping a boatload of new questions on Derek. Usually there is a lot of eye-rolling involved, sometimes even mutual life saving. No matter what has happened a few days or weeks ago, Stiles eventually comes back. There is a certain easiness between himself and Stiles now that wasn’t there in the beginning. It feels quiet and content most of the time, the sarcasm and snark between them always present, but it comes with a lightness that Derek secretly wishes would transfer into the rest of his life from time to time. He remembers pushing Stiles into a wall and even hitting his head on the steering wheel of the Jeep once and he slightly winces at the thought. He wonders why he had ever seen Stiles as a threat.

Lately though, ever since that horrible night where Stiles saved Derek’s life by ramming a fucking knife between a hunter’s ribs, there is something else. Derek can’t quite put his finger on it because it never seems to stay the same for a long enough time to decipher it properly. 

Sometimes when Stiles comes over to Derek’s place for whatever reason he deemed sufficient enough, he is nervous. He is fidgeting, his whole body radiating anxiety. The most disturbing thing about it is that Stiles is quiet then. It’s not the companionable silence that Derek has gotten used to; instead it makes him itch to reach out to Stiles, to touch him and offer comfort, and Derek really doesn’t know what to do with that. He is not good at reading people and with Stiles he has boundaries, it’s not his place and he shouldn’t care. He doesn’t want to push. It usually subsides quickly anyway, after a couple of minutes Stiles visibly calms down, his pulse slowing and shoulders relaxing. Derek wants to ask sometimes, what has Stiles so riled up and worried, but maybe that would be too intrusive. Stiles will open up to him should he want to and he trusts Stiles to tell him when there’s something wrong. Derek forgets to breathe for a second because it’s just that simple. He trusts Stiles. With his life.

 

****************

Stiles has been feeling jumpy for days. Jittery and distracted and nowhere near capable of concentrating on anything, let alone his econ class. Scott keeps shooting him concerned glances, but Stiles avoids meeting his eyes and decides to excuse himself to go to the bathroom for the second time this period. Luckily Coach Finstock doesn’t even notice and waves him off instead.

He washes his hands slowly, methodically cleaning each finger and scratching underneath the rim of his nails before Stiles splashes some water into his face, hoping for it to clear his head a little. It doesn’t. He stares at himself in the mirror, arms braced on the sink and notices not for the first time how his cheeks have hollowed out over the last few weeks, how deep the bags underneath his eyes have become. Hardly sleeping will do that to a person. But really, Stiles thinks, he should probably be glad about the two or three hours of dreamless sleep he manages to catch each night. Total insomnia is worse. The nightmares are worse. He dreams, sometimes, that he gets injured, that the hunter manages to shove him away and he stumbles and falls and falls and never stops falling. It doesn’t matter though, he always wakes up eventually. But it feels too real when he doesn’t get there in time, doesn’t get to the knife quickly enough and Derek dies, spluttering blood, his eyes turning dull and cold no matter how frantically Stiles fists his hands in Derek’s shirt and tries to hold on to him, tries to hold on to Derek’s life. Those nights are the worst and they leave Stiles raw and empty.

Stiles’ head snaps up when the bathroom door opens and he isn’t exactly surprised when Scott pokes his head in, frowning at him in concern and raising his eyebrows, questioning him silently. And Stiles just can’t. He wants to open up to Scott, he really wants to talk to him like he always has, but it’s impossible. The words get stuck in his throat and he just can’t. Stiles feels the tears burning behind his eyes and suddenly there is movement around him. He doesn’t realize it’s Scott until a hand presses firmly around his biceps.

“Are you alright?”

Stiles can’t answer, everything in his chest is too tight, that invisible weight starting to press in on his lungs again. He shakes his head frantically because he really isn’t alright and right at this moment he honestly doesn’t remember the last time he has been.

Scott nods once, eyes full of concern. 

“Can you… is your Dad home? Can you go home? Because I don’t think you should be alone right now and I…” Scott interrupts himself, mouth pulling into a tight line. He looks guilty and Stiles can’t have that because this isn’t Scott’s fault. None of it is Scott’s fault and Stiles takes a deep breath.

“It’s fine Scott. I know somewhere,” he swallows “I know where I can go.”

Stiles gets a searching glance from Scott for this obviously evasive answer, but Scott is his brother and he doesn’t push. Stiles assumes he might know anyway.

“Go. I’ll tell coach you’re sick and went home. Call me, okay? Call me if I can help somehow.”  
Stiles just nods and whispers a quiet thank you, then turns around and heads outside to his Jeep.

It’s not the first time that Stiles experiences this, but today it gets worse the further he drives, the nearer he gets to his destination. It’s not only his own situation, the confusion over being torn between knowing to have done the right thing and the guilt, the complete and utter lack of regret for what he has done. He doesn’t regret killing that man because that would mean he regrets Derek being alive. And that’s just… Stiles refuses to even think about it when another wave of that gut clenching feeling washes over him like nausea. This inexplicable feeling, this raw need to make sure that Derek is okay is suddenly so urgent, so overwhelming it makes Stiles’ chest constrict painfully. He has to restrain himself from speeding because getting pulled over by his Dad or his deputies would so not help his situation. He winces when he runs a red light.

****************

Derek can hear the Jeep pulling into the parking lot near the back entrance of his loft. It’s not like he listens for it, but he is mildly surprised because it’s not even eleven in the morning on a school day, so Stiles probably shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t mind having Stiles over though, his visits having been way too frequent, way too regular over the past few weeks to have Derek still believing the general “I was in the area” which Stiles sometimes throws his way as an explanation. He doesn’t mind, he just wonders sometimes, why Stiles shows up on his doorstep again and again when there’s no imminent danger. Why he seeks out Derek’s company when there’s Scott and Lydia and his other friends who he could hang out with. He understands it, kind of, when Stiles has questions about everything concerning the “wolvelihood” – Stiles’ words, not his – because at least Derek knows a few things. 

He doesn’t get it. Stiles is like an itch underneath his skin that he can’t scratch, he has somehow crawled under Derek’s skin and made him care. Stiles keeps coming back to Derek, keeps coming back for Derek and really, how could he not care? But he can’t figure Stiles out. And the problem is he wants to. He wants to figure Stiles out, his motives, what the goal of all of this is and the reasons why he doesn’t leave Derek behind like everyone else. He doesn’t get it. He almost asked once, almost gave in to the urge to reach out and touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow through in the end, retreating to that almost comfortable silence that keeps developing, only a slight tension humming between them. Maybe Derek just doesn’t want to hear the answer. 

Today it’s worse. Stiles’ heart rate is through the roof, a way too fast thumpthumpthump in Derek’s ear accompanied by an alarmingly irregular breathing pattern. Derek is at the door in seconds, opening it for Stiles who comes barreling right through, looking sweaty and pale. For a moment Derek thinks he will be sick and braces himself for it, but Stiles only slightly bends over his knees, fighting to get the panic back under control. 

This time Derek does reach out. He carefully presses his hand to Stiles’ left shoulder, thumb gently digging into the crease beneath his collarbone, coaxing him to look up.

“Stiles.”

Stiles’ head snaps up at the mention of his name and Derek is a little relieved when Stiles’ frantic breathing calms down a notch, his gaze focusing on Derek and apparently realizing for the first time that Derek is actually there. Still trembling he pulls himself into an upright position and Derek’s hand slips from his shoulder with the movement, stilling right over Stiles’ heart. Derek can feel it. Feels the warmth of his own hand seeping through the material of Stiles’ shirt and into his skin, feels Stiles’ heart skip a beat beneath his palm as if startled and picking up a rhythm then, still a little fast, but steady and strong.

“It’s okay, Stiles. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Because Derek gets it now. For Stiles, this isn’t about himself, it’s all about Derek. Because for whatever reason Stiles cares and Derek gets that now. The thought makes something in his chest ache and he feels like drowning, like falling apart. Feels like falling in love.

****************

Stiles can breathe again, finally breaking the surface after what felt like drowning forever. His head is clear and he feels calm, grounded. He can only stare at Derek who keeps looking at him with something close to wonder, the hand over Stiles’ heart slightly curling into his shirt now. It’s warm. Stiles reaches out slowly, desperate not to destroy the moment when the atmosphere around them changes and suddenly feels charged. His hands settle around Derek’s neck, pulling him closer hesitantly and Stiles gasps when he feels Derek’s arms wrapping around him, enveloping him in that warmth completely. He presses his face into the crook of Derek’s neck and inhales, quietly reveling in the feeling of safety. When he feels Derek’s hands pushing under his shirt on his back, seeking skin and carefully sliding up along his sides and over his ribs, over his spine, Stiles shivers. The goosebumps breaking out over his skin have nothing to do with cold. Stiles feels a little lightheaded, a little breathless in a different and oh so good way and maybe that makes him a little more daring than usual. He drags himself away from Derek’s neck, their faces only inches apart. Derek has never looked so open, so vulnerable and Stiles’ heart lurches in his chest.

The kiss is slow and gentle, lips pressing firmly and tongues curling softly around each other, every breath between Derek and Stiles bearing a promise of more, a promise of everything.

*

“I would do it again, you know.” Stiles whispers later, his fingers absently tracing idle patterns over Derek’s bare chest.

“And I would do the same.” Derek’s reply comes softly, seriously and sounding so typically Derek that Stiles can’t fight the grin spreading over his face.

“Nah, you would’ve ripped his throat out. With your teeth.”

Derek just huffs at him incredulously. “Shut up. Go to sleep.”

And Stiles does. There are no nightmares, no dreams, just blissful darkness. Even in his sleep, Stiles doesn’t let go of Derek for a long time.

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I have written in ages and the first thing I have written for Teen Wolf. So I hope you guys enjoyed. Also I'm newish on tumblr, so come say hi if you like! http://lacrimadraconis.tumblr.com/


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